What happens in
by ninjanervana
Summary: A series of one-shots talking about our favorite assassin duo's most memorable missions. What happened in Budapest and Croatia and Spain and everywhere else. Pre-Avengers to Post-Avengers. I do not own the characters.
1. First meeting: Rijeka, Croatia

Clint followed his mark along the rooftops of Rijeka, her vibrant red hair making it easy for him to trail her through the crowded market place. Clint was a seasoned veteran when it came to watching people; he spent his entire life doing it from the time he was old enough to walk on his own. Whether he was on or off the clock, he was keeping an eye on everyone around him, watching their movements, remembering their faces. He was one of SHIELD's best and brightest, even if he had a stubborn streak to rival Fury's. SHIELD knew if they sent him to get rid of someone, they would be removed; it would only be a matter of time.

He had been trailing his mark for the past few days, trying to establish a routine of her movements. As he watched her buy fruit at a stall, he could hardly believe that this was the infamous Black Widow. She looked absolutely average. Actually that was untrue; the Black Widow, also known as Natasha Romanoff, was anything but average. Her bright red hair easily stood out, the shoulder-length curls bouncing as she walked along the street. Her graceful movements made him think of a dancer, moving smoothly across the stage, awing everyone with her effortless movements; although the Black Widow would be better defined as a graceful predator, stalking her prey who was unaware of her presence until it was too late. Her creamy skin exposed by her summer dress had a healthy glow, her porcelain cheeks flushed with color. And her eyes, her beautiful green eyes watched everything around her: the little boy playing with a dog between the stalls, the old man trying to haggle with the lady selling vegetables, the teenager trying to pick pockets a few people away from her. No, Natasha Romanoff was far from normal. But that wouldn't matter; she was just another mark.

* * *

Natasha could tell someone had been following her. It began quite suddenly, the feeling of someone's eyes on her back as she exited a clothing store one evening. She looked around nonchalantly, as if searching for a street sign to orient herself, while she tried to determine where her watcher was. She wasn't surprised that someone was watching her, it wasn't the first person and it probably wouldn't be the last. She had a long list of sins behind her, a trail of dead bodies left in her wake. The person who began as an innocent little girl growing up in Russia was long gone, as dead as any of the targets she was sent after. She made a fortune killing for those who ordered, first for the Red Room, then for her own clients, amassing her wealth in various banks around the world. After years of committing crimes for others, of brushing aside her conscience to continue doing the only thing she knew she was good at, she decided to abandon the lifestyle and start somewhere new. Unfortunately assassins didn't just leave their jobs; they were permanently removed. Her line of work left her with a lot of enemies who would pay to have her head served up on a platter before them. Whoever was watching her, whoever they were sent by, they wouldn't be the last person to try to kill the infamous Black Widow. The thought left her incredibly tired. A lifetime of killing was exhausting enough, even if she never showed it through her cool façade, but a lifetime of defending off killers sounded unbearable. The last thing she wanted was to spend her entire life looking over her shoulder, waiting for someone to sneak up on her and end her life; that was part of the reason she left the assassin business in the first place. As she walked back to her apartment, she began to think maybe it was no longer worth fighting off the killers; maybe it was time to let go.

* * *

'_What the hell is she doing?' _Clint wondered as his mark walked into an empty alleyway. It was almost midnight when Clint noticed movement in her apartment. He worried momentarily that he had been noticed, that she was attempting to make an escape, but she simply walked through the town aimlessly, finally ending up here. Clint watched her from the rooftop next to her, his arrow trained on her heart. _'What are you doing, Romanoff?'_

Natasha leaned her back against the wall that closed off the alley, a dead end for her death. After being watched for a few days, after numerous opportunities to kill her were left untaken, Natasha decided this person would be the one, this person would have the glory of killing the Black Widow. "I know you're there," Natasha called out into the night. "I'm not gonna kill you."

Clint raised an eyebrow as he listened to Natasha, his curiosity getting the better of him as he repelled down the side of the building. "Ms. Romanoff, very nice to meet you," he said, his arrow still trained on her. "I assume you know why I'm here."

'_A bow and arrow, that's quite different,'_ she thought as she sized up the man in front of her. He seemed perfectly capable of killing her, but she was also perfectly capable of killing him. "Of course, you're here to kill me," Natasha replied, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. While she looked calm on the outside, internally she was at war with herself. Every instinct in her told her to draw the gun from her hip or the knife from her back and kill the man before her, but she forced herself to stop; she wasn't going to run anymore, she wasn't going to fight anymore. If her life was going to end it was going to end on her terms and her terms alone, even if the means were unorthodox.

"And this doesn't bother you in the slightest," Clint stated, watching her closely. She didn't seem like she was preparing to attack; she wasn't tensed at all. She just seemed…resigned. Something tugged at Clint's mind, a feeling he couldn't shake off as he looked into her green eyes. Something looked so familiar. "I must admit I expected much more fight from the infamous Black Widow."

"You get tired of fighting all the time. Sometimes you just want it all to stop. You understand," Natasha replied, not sure if he would understand. She waited for the moment the conversation would stop, for his taut bowstring to release and end everything. _'He has warm eyes,' _she thought with something closely resembling relief as she watched him. _'At least if I'm going to be killed by someone, it's not by someone with cold eyes.' _

'_She looks like me,'_ Clint thought in surprise, finally realizing what looked familiar. Her eyes possessed the same haunted, tired look his eyes had before he met Phil, the eyes that said they saw too much and harmed too many, that were desperately looking for a way out, a way to change no matter what the price. He was lucky enough to find his escape in SHIELD, the woman standing in front of him was willing to take her escape in the form of his arrow through his heart. But she could be changed; she was stubborn enough that she could be saved and changed_. 'Phil's gonna murder me,'_ he thought as he turned off the communicator in his ear. "Ms. Romanoff, I have a proposition," Clint said, lowering his arrow.

Natasha raised an eyebrow as he lowered his weapon, wondering what kind of rookie was sent to capture her. No one ever lowered their weapon around her. "Yes?"

"See the thing is my boss is gonna have my head if I don't kill you," Clint explained, running a hand through his hair. "And honestly I don't want to kill you, but I don't wanna die either; Phil can give a hell of a tongue lashing. The only way I could get out of it is if I bring him something valuable. That's where you come in. You've got potential and I'd be lying if I said I didn't see a little bit of me in you. You're looking for a way out and you're thinking my arrow is the only way. I'd like to offer you a different escape. How would you like to work for the good guys for once? SHIELD could always use your particular skill set." Clint held his hand out to her, offering her a new chance, a new life.

Natasha stared at Clint, her eyes filled with shock at his words. An escape, a chance to start again, it seemed almost too good to be true. She hesitated in taking his hand, wondering what she was getting herself into.

Clint could see her wavering, torn between a past that was too horrible and a future that seemed too good to be true. "Come on, Romanoff, you've got a lot of red in your ledger; this is your chance to wipe some of it out."

Natasha thought about the blood that was on her hands, soaked into her skin. The chance to wash some of it away, to be able to see herself past all the deaths she had brought was too tempting. She slipped her hand into his, oddly comforted by his roughened hands. "SHIELD, huh? I've never been to America."

* * *

And that's how our favorite assassins met (in my opinion) Reviews please!


	2. Get off your high horse:Budapest,Hungary

"Remember to stick to the plan, Widow," Clint said into his communicator. Clint never thought he'd be saying that after all the trouble he had gotten into. Fury and Phil were not too pleased with him bringing his target back to base. Phil read him the riot act, giving him a tongue lashing that would have made stronger men whimper in fear and Fury was ready to shoot him and kick him out of SHIELD. But Clint stood steady in the face of their anger and threats; he was never one to regret any decision he made and he knew he made the right choice. He knew she was dangerous, but he also knew she could be good if she had the chance. Natasha stood silently through Clint's reprimanding, either ignoring the not so veiled threats Fury made about her or simply not caring at all. In the end, Fury conceded that having Black Widow on their side for once would be a huge asset.

Of course right after he sent Clint off on a mission with her as a form of punishment. Clint didn't mind; he brought her in, she was his responsibility in a sense and she hadn't tried to kill him or anyone else, that had to count for something. He spent the entire flight to Budapest trying to figure out something, anything about her. Her cool façade gave nothing away and as someone who spent his time watching people and figuring them it, it was really beginning to irk him.

"I've got this, Hawkeye," Natasha murmured as she entered the hotel room, following her mark: a rich weapons dealer who used kids to smuggle guns across the world. The mission was simple: get in, get close, get rid of him. Natasha wanted to roll her eyes at the situation she had gotten herself into. She never would have thought, or chosen for that matter, to be part of a team. People were unpredictable and teams were liabilities. If there was one thing that the Red Room had taught her that stayed true her entire life, it was that people could not be trusted. And yet here she had this man, Hawkeye, prattling in her ear about sticking to plans. He spent the entire flight chattering away, ignoring her silence as a blatant sign of 'I don't want to talk.' _'Never a dull moment,'_ she thought to herself as she smiled seductively at her target.

Clint was poised on the rooftop across the street from one of the nicest hotels in all of Budapest, providing back up protection for Natasha. As Natasha moved closer to the target, he noticed a flurry of movement on the floor below her. "We've got a large number of movers heading up to the floor," an agent positioned inside the hotel said over the comm. link.

"Widow, sixty seconds; wrap it up or I will," Clint said in response.

Natasha smiled tensely, her hands reaching down to her thighs. Nobody told her how to do her job. Suddenly the door was kicked open as three men rushed into the room. Natasha quickly grabbed the knife from her thigh holster, slitting her target's throat. As she turned toward the intruders, two arrows were fired through the window, whizzing by her head as they embedded themselves into the enemies' hearts. Natasha threw her knife at the throat of the third person, killing him instantly.

"Out the window, Widow; you've got more headed your way. There's a fire escape out there, oh and do me a favor and grab my arrows, would ya?" Clint said, repelling off the side of the building. He had a feeling this was going to be a fight he had to get up close for.

"Are you kidding me?" Natasha said in annoyance, grabbing the two arrows and her knife before slipping out the window. She ground her teeth as she scaled down the fire escape, wishing she had her usual outfit on instead of a dress and heels. As she calmly crossed the street, the only remarkable thing about her were the arrows in her hand, people came rushing out of the hotel firing at her._ 'Shit,' _she thought, diving behind a car and drawing her own weapons.

Clint was surprised as people came swarming out of the hotel, their guns firing into the night air. He ducked behind a car, quickly firing off arrows into the crowd. He glanced over momentarily, catching sight of Natasha firing from behind a car. _'At least she's fine,'_ he thought, continuing to shoot as he made his way toward her, weaving between cars.

Natasha quickly pointed her gun at Clint's forehead as he landed next to her, moving it from him as she recognized his face. "You killed my targets," she said calmly, her words barely audible over the sound of gun fire and windows being shattered.

"I saved your ass!" Clint replied incredulously, shaking his head. He wasn't expecting a thank you from her, he didn't even care for a thank you, but he wasn't gonna be reprimanded for saving her.

"I would have been fine; you could have killed me with your arrows."

"I never miss. And you would have been killed by them," Clint retorted. "By the time you finished killing the arms dealer, they would have shot you if I hadn't killed them."

"I don't need a hero, Hawkeye; I can take care of myself just fine," Natasha bit out, resisting the urge to hit him with the butt of her gun.

"Get off your damn high horse, Widow. I saved your ass and you know it. It's over, it's done with it, get on with life."

Natasha ducked as a bullet flew over her head, missing her by less than an inch. She turned toward Clint, her intense green eyes staring into his grey ones. "I'm only going to say this once, Hawkeye so you better pay close attention. I don't do teams, I don't do partners. They're a liability and nothing more. I don't need anyone watching my back; I've done fine by myself as you can see."

'_The nerve of this woman,' _Clint thought angrily, looking away from her. As the last person fell, Clint stood up, surveying the damage. "Well that's too freakin bad, cause you're stuck with one," Clint replied, walking away. Maybe Fury was right; maybe this was a punishment.

* * *

So that's what happened in Budapest...or is it? Reviews please


	3. Owe you one: Malaga, Spain

"Okay Barton, Romanoff, you're going undercover together," Phil said as they boarded the plane together.

Clint barely managed to suppress a groan. He hated going undercover; it was his absolute least favorite thing to do on missions. He preferred to stay up in the rafters of a building or on rooftops; he could always see things better from a distance. But when he was forced to go undercover, he couldn't look at the big picture as he maneuvered around. He couldn't see the guy acting suspicious in the corner of a room or the woman reaching under the table for something he couldn't see. He felt strangely blind when he was forced to move through crowds, his annoyance at having to play nice with whatever asshole they sent him after didn't make him feel any better.

Natasha silently raised an eyebrow at Coulson's orders. She was still getting used to being an agent of SHIELD; they were one of the organizations on her list of people who may possibly kill her, now she was working for them. Coulson seemed…all right to her. He wasn't nearly as hotheaded as Fury seemed and he wasn't as smart-mouthed or stubborn as Hawkeye was. Coulson was calm, levelheaded. He didn't take any nonsense and he most definitely wasn't a push over. He wasn't trying to be her best friend, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna let her walk all over him. If Natasha had to pick someone she definitely respected, it would be him.

But even if she respected Coulson, she wasn't looking forward to going undercover with Clint. _'Does he even know how to be subtle and go undercover?' _Natasha wondered, looking over at her partner. The word left an odd taste in her mouth. Partner. Natasha knew as much as she didn't like it that was what Agent Barton was. He was one part partner and one part babysitter judging by the way he always seemed to find her on base. She didn't really care. She didn't associate with the other agents, all of whom watched her with guarded eyes as if she would kill them while they chewed on their turkey sandwich. Clint simply sat down at her table as she ate, drumming out a beat on his thighs or tapping his foot on the floor. The man seemed physically incapable of sitting still for any stretch of time. _'This is gonna go well,' _Natasha thought, settling into her seat. _'At least Spain is always beautiful.'_

* * *

Clint wondered who Coulson had to buy off to get him into the party, walking around the crowds with a tray of champagne flutes balanced on his hand. He figured if he had to be undercover at least he could constantly be moving among the crowds, not forced to remain in one position for too long. He could survey the room and keep an eye on Natasha without drawing too much attention._ 'Not like the Black Widow needs someone to look after her,' _Clint thought, rolling his eyes.

Natasha could feel Clint's gaze on her as she spoke with the wife of her mark, his eyes burning a hole in her back. She couldn't understand why she was being watched so intensely. She was in a crowded room with people all round her; she highly doubted anyone would pull a gun on her right now. She was torn between being comforted by his gaze and feeling disconcerted by it. The only time she felt someone eye's upon her was when they were mentally undressing her or attempting to attack her. She wasn't sure exactly which one Hawkeye was doing if either.

Tearing herself from her thoughts, she smiled as her mark approached her, slipping his arm around his wife's waist. All Natasha had to do was slip the pill into his drink and get out without being noticed. "Allow me to refresh our drinks," Natasha offered. The target nodded in thanks to her, kissing his wife's cheek. She might have felt bad about killing off a man who was so obviously in love with his wife if she didn't know the kind of underground dealing he did. As it was, he was lucky she hadn't shot him in the forehead. She turned around, unsurprised to find Clint behind her, casually offering her champagne. She slipped the pill into the champagne flute before turning back to her target, offering him it.

"Salud," the target said, raising his glass to his lips. Natasha smiled back at the pair, quickly excusing herself.

"Widow heading toward the exit," she murmured into her earpiece, handing her glass to a passing busboy. As Natasha walked through the back door, she heard a scream erupt from inside, assuring her that the target was dead.

"Nice work, Widow," Clint said as she walked into the empty alleyway.

"Did you expect anything else?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I always get my target."

The back door swung open loudly, a shout from one of the target's bodyguards causing them to whirl around, weapons drawn. Clint pulled Natasha toward him as the bodyguard pulled the trigger of his gun, the bullet flying past Natasha's ear. Natasha quickly shot him in return, his limp body dropping to the cold concrete.

'_Shit,'_ Natasha thought as Clint let go of her arm, his eyes like hers scanning the doorway for any additional people. "We better move, pick up will be here for us soon," Natasha said, heading for the opening of the alleyway. Clint followed along side her silently, his gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. Natasha hated that she now owed him. She knew and he probably knew it too, although he remained silent. "Barton," Natasha said as they neared the pickup site, calling him by his last name instead of by his code name. "I owe you one."

"Don't sweat it," Clint said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. "It's what partners do. Besides Coulson would have my head on a platter if I let you get killed."

* * *

And that's what happened in Spain.


	4. Scars and Repairs: Lahti, Finland

_Hey readers! So I had someone ask me if this is my Blackhawk version of Stork brings a Stark. The answer is no. This is just a series of mission one-shots about Clint and Natasha, about how they ended up going from perfect strangers to best friends and eventually to something else. So this is unrelated to that. I just thought it'd be interesting to see how their relationship progress. However I will be writing a Blackhawk pregnancy story, but it's gonna have to wait until after Christmas. I decided to do something different with this chapter; instead of all the action-y parts (which I don't think I'm good at writing, I'm gonna write the aftermath. Let me know which one seems better.) _

* * *

_'Son of a bitch,'_ Clint thought as he shuffled into the dingy hotel room, Natasha following after him. The hotel room was the size of a mousetrap. A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling, illuminating the two twin beds that barely had a foot of space between them; the bathroom was just as small with barely enough room to maneuver. At least everything looked clean.

Clint was pretty sure there wasn't an inch of his body that didn't ache from some form of injury, be it cut, burn or bruise. No, wait, the tip of his nose didn't hurt. That made exactly one body part that didn't hurt and a million others that did. He winced as he moved his arms, the glass embedded in the skin tearing at him._ 'What else do you expect when you jump out of a window?' _he thought, sitting on the edge of the bed, wondering how he was gonna bandage himself up. He was pretty sure his torso was covered in bruises, he could feel blood dripping from the knife wound on his back and his arms had a few minor burns. It was still sixteen hours until transportation would be there for them.

"What the hell were you thinking, Barton?" Natasha asked him, barely suppressing a groan as she sat down on the other empty bed. She felt as if she was run over with a truck; her skin would be forming a map of black and blue bruises by morning time. Despite her pain and discomfort, she was uninjured for the most part. Clint, on the other hand, she knew took a lot more hits than she did.

"I was thinking the warehouse was about to explode and I didn't wanna be inside when it did," Clint replied, slowly moving his arms to unzip his vest.

"That doesn't mean you need to jump out of a window to escape." Natasha got up from her seat as she watched Clint struggle with his vest, digging the first aid kit out of their bags.

"Is that concern I hear, Romanoff?" Clint teased, breathing a sigh of relief as he managed to unzip his jacket fully. Now the question was how was he going to get it off without hurting himself more?

"No, I just didn't want to drag you dead body back to SHIELD," Natasha replied, sitting next to him. "Coulson wouldn't be happy with me and Fury would think I killed you."

"You couldn't kill me," Clint scoffed.

Natasha silently raised an eyebrow, opening the first aid kit as she assessed which of his injuries to take care of first. _'The knife wound,'_ she decided. "Stop fidgeting and let me help you with that; I'll bandage up the knife wound," Natasha offered before she could stop herself. _ 'I owe him a debt; the least I can do is bandage his wounds,' _she told herself. She did owe Clint a lot; although she had been hesitant at first, coming to SHIELD was one of her better decisions in life. On top of that he had saved her life too; she didn't like owing favors.

She ignored the look of surprise he gave her as she eased his vest off his shoulders, trying not to brush along the glass cuts on his forearms. _'It's gonna take a while to get those out.' _

"Thanks," Clint murmured, glad to be rid of the vest. He wondered momentarily where this new side of Natasha came from. _'Maybe she really is gonna kill me,'_ he thought sarcastically. But he wasn't going to question her help; it would have been hell for him to raise his arms and bandage the wound on his shoulder.

Natasha got up from the bed, soaking a clean towel in the bathroom before returning to her seat behind him. Clint leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees as his hands cradled his head. Natasha gently wiped at the wound, cleaning up the excess blood._ 'Long, but not deep,' _she thought as she cleaned it with rubbing alcohol. Clint hissed in pain but remained still, allowing her to work. As she reached for the roll of bandages, she looked at his entire back, taking in his lean muscles. She noticed a series of circular marks on his back, the shape vaguely familiar although she couldn't place it. She stretched a hand toward the marks before pulling back at the last moment. _'They're burns, cigarette burns,' _she realized, her eyes widening. Judging by how faded they were, she knew they had to be old, years, maybe decades old.

"You've got burns on your back," Natasha commented nonchalantly as she dressed his wound.

Clint's shoulders stiffened momentarily before he relaxed. He always forgot about the scars; outta sight, outta mind. It was also easy to forget about things you purposely repressed. "Yeah," Clint replied quietly. The silence stretched between them as Natasha finished her work. If he wanted to continue, he could, but Natasha wasn't going to push him. She knew a thing or two about having a past. "I got them when I was a kid…some people can be sick."

"I know that feeling," Natasha agreed softly, thinking back to her days in Red Room. The things she saw, the things she had to do, she knew they would haunt her until her dying days. Sins were never easily forgotten, whether they were yours or someone else's.

"Everyone's got scars," Clint said finally, reaching for the tweezers as he began to remove the glass shards from his skin, pushing his past away.

Natasha got off the bed, grabbing clothes from her bag before she walked into the bathroom. As she closed the door, she glanced at the agent sitting on the bed, meticulously working. _'Maybe there's more to you after all, Barton,'_ she thought, shutting the door.

* * *

Reviews please! Let me know if you like the action or the aftermath more!


	5. First names: Puerto Barrios, Guatemala

There were only a handful of things the Black Widow was afraid of. If you named them to her, she would look at you with a cold stare that instantly made you rethink your choices in life and calmly tell you that she was afraid of nothing, assassins had no fears. Fear was for the weak and fear led to your death. But the Black Widow was, as much as she tried to deny it, still a human being and she still had fears, one of them being fires. If she sat and thought about it for a while, which she never would, what was the use dwelling in the past she'd say, she would think that her fear of fires stemmed from the day her parents died. Yes, coming home to find your parents dead and the only home you knew going up in flames would instill that sort of fear in you.

So as the building she and Clint were in became a raging inferno, she began to panic internally as her cool façade remained. _'I swear to whatever god there is out there when I get back to SHIELD I'm going to murder the disgraceful excuse for an agent for getting us bad intel,'_ Natasha thought, covering her mouth as she tried to see through the thick smoke that was rapidly filling the room. It was supposed to be a quick mission, just getting information from a source and getting out. Unfortunately she and Clint were sent into a trap that intended to kill them both. Notoriety put a big price tag on your head and they made a lot of enemies. Now the mission was just to find Clint and get out alive. She knew Clint was close by, but with the thick smoke that made her eyes water she really couldn't see anything.

"Romanoff!" Clint shouted as his eyes strained to see through the smoke. Even with his vastly better than average vision, he was having a hard time seeing. "Answer me, Romanoff."

"Barton!" Natasha called, turning toward the sound of his voice. She could just make out the silhouette of a figure approaching her, unsheathing a gun as she sank into a defensive stance.

"It's me!" Clint shouted as Natasha raised a gun toward her face. "Damnit one day you're really gonna shoot me."

"Only if you deserve it," she coughed in reply, slipping her weapon back into the holster. "We need to get out of here."

"I thought we'd have a tea party in here," Clint replied sarcastically, making his way toward what he thought was the exit, his hands extended in front of him.

Natasha followed close beside him, hoping they were getting closer to a way out. She froze as she heard the sound of wood creaking, her eyes darting up to the ceiling just in time to see one of the wooden beams come lose and go crashing to the floor. "Clint!" Natasha yelled as she watched the wood fall, grabbing the back of his vest and yanking him backward.

Clint stumbled back a few steps as Natasha pulled him, his hands instinctively rising to protect himself from the falling beam. _'Shit,'_ he thought, his eyes wide_, 'that woulda been the end of me.'_ He grabbed onto Natasha's hand, rushing toward the exit. If the ceiling was starting to give, the whole building could come down at any moment.

Natasha gripped Clint's hand tightly as they rushed toward the door, not willing to lose sight of him in the building. She took a deep breath of air as the door was pushed open, the doorknob slamming against the concrete wall. The assassin duo sprinted a few blocks before turning into an empty alleyway, leaning against the wall as they attempted to catch their breath.

"You…you called me Clint," he said between coughs, his lungs burning with exertion.

"What?" Natasha questioned, turning to look at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Back in the building," Clint explained, sinking down to sit on the concrete. "When the beam fell and you grabbed me, which by the way thanks for I owe you one, you called me Clint."

Natasha thought back to the moment, realizing he was right. 'Crap,' she thought, leaning her head against the wall. 'That wasn't expected.'

"You didn't call me Hawkeye or Barton; you called me by my name," he said, smiling smugly at her. "Do you like me, Natasha?"

"What?" she replied coolly, wanting to punch the smug smile from his face. It was nothing, just the slip of the tongue. It meant nothing that she called him by his first name.

"You definitely like me," Clint decided, nodding his head.

"Actually I'm thinking about killing you and leaving your dead body in this alley for SHIELD to find."

"That may be true," Clint replied, pushing himself to his feet. "But you also like me; otherwise you would have never called me Clint. Admit it, I've grown on you, Nat."

Natasha's head whipped toward him, a questioning look on her face. "What'd you call me?"

"Huh? Oh I called you Nat. It's a nickname," Clint remarked. "Romanoff or Widow feels a little too formal for when we're not in the field ya know? And Natasha can be a mouthful sometimes. So Nat. Why do you not like it?"

"We should get going," Natasha replied, walking out of the alleyway. "SHIELD will be looking for us."

"Come on, are you not gonna answer my question?" Clint asked, following after her. "You gotta let me know."

Natasha remained quiet, heading toward the predetermined pickup location. She never had a nickname before.

* * *

And that was Guatemala :D Reviews please


	6. Warmth: Somewhere in Greenland

_'I hate the cold,'_ Clint thought miserably, wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to keep warm._ 'At least Nat's here.' _After their past successful mission, Fury decided teaming him up with Natasha wasn't exactly the punishment he was aiming for. Instead he paired them with different partners, sending them out on separate missions. Clint's missions went perfectly fine, as did Natasha's, although hers were more tension filled. Natasha didn't trust people easily and having to trust someone she didn't know on a mission that could potentially kill her didn't put her in the best of moods. After threatening a total of five SHIELD agents with all manner of bodily harm, Coulson finally got Clint and Natasha paired up again for a mission; it was for the safety of everyone involved at SHIELD. Phil even stopped Clint to ask him why Natasha didn't threaten him as much as she threatened the other agents. Clint couldn't think of an answer.

Reunion or not, Clint wasn't happy to be huddled in an ice cave in the middle of Greenland, shivering in front of a fire. "We need better mission locations, huh Romanoff?" Clint said, staring at the fire as he focused on warming his limbs. After a moment of silence, he looked up, expecting at least a sarcastic chuckle. Despite popular belief at SHIELD, Natasha did have a sense of humor, just a very dry one. Natasha stared into the flames, her eyes unfocused. "Romanoff? Natasha?" Clint called, getting up from his seat on the other side of the fire. He began to worry as she remained unresponsive, kneeling beside her. She looked fine and he was sure she didn't get injured during the mission; it was a breeze. _'What the hell is wrong with her?' _Clint wondered. "Nat!" Clint shouted in desperation.

Natasha jumped at the sound of Clint's voice, backhanding him as she was startled. She turned toward Clint as she heard him cursing, finding him sprawled out on the floor, a distinct red mark forming on his cheek.

"What the hell was that for!" he said angrily.

"Why the hell were you so damn close to me?" she retorted loudly. "I'm an assassin, you never come that close to me for any reason! I could have killed you."

"Well excuse me then," Clint said, rolling his eyes. "Don't zone out like that then; I thought you were going into shock from hypothermia or something."

"I'm Russian, I won't get hypothermia," Natasha replied dryly. "You, on the other hand, stand a reasonable chance of getting it."

"If you won't get hypothermia, then why are you shivering?" Clint asked smugly, sitting next to her. _'Shit that really hurt,' _he thought, rubbing his cheek. He resisted the urge to press his cheek against the snow, knowing it wouldn't help him keep warm. _'Lesson learned, never sneak up on Nat. At least she didn't shoot me.' _

"I am not," Natasha replied irritably, forcing her shaking limbs to be still.

"Yeah yeah," Clint said dismissively. He moved closer to Natasha, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing?" Natasha said tensely, her hand gripping his wrist tightly as his hand rested on her shoulder.

"One: ow. Two: I was going to attempt to keep us both warm so we don't freeze to death. Will you let go of my arm now?"

"Did you learn nothing from thirty seconds ago when I backhanded you?" Natasha asked, annoyed as she let go of his arm. "If I kill you by accident I'm telling Coulson that it was your fault."

"He'd probably believe it was too," Clint replied, slowly placing his arm around her shoulder. Last thing he wanted was to get stabbed by her. "Jeez Nat, you can calm down a little bit; I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Natasha asked, her shoulders stiffening as his arm rested around them. She wasn't used to physical contact that wasn't hand to hand violence, wasn't used to a guy's arm around her that wasn't after something more. She had to fight against every instinct she had to keep from knocking him unconscious.

"What? Nat? I told you it's a nickname."

"Yes, but why did you give me a nickname?" she asked. She had been wondering since that afternoon why Clint had given her a nickname, what prompted him to do it. The way he said it, it flowed off his tongue effortlessly, as if he spent his entire life saying it.

"I also told you that; you must be getting old on me," he teased. "Natasha is a mouthful and the other names are too formal. Besides you're my partner and I like you so might as well give you a nickname."

Natasha remained quiet, thinking over his words. She couldn't remember the last time someone liked her. Her parents loved her before they were killed. The Red Room shaped her and morphed her into a killer but that didn't mean they liked her; she simply made herself useful. Her targets didn't like _her_, they liked her body, the sexuality it exuded. But this man sitting next to her, attempting to keep her warm liked _her_. It was a completely foreign thought to her, something she couldn't understand.

"Hey Nat, if I move closer to you are you gonna break my arm?" Clint asked teasingly, noticing the serious look on her face as he wondered if he crossed a line.

"It's a possibility," Natasha said, smirking.

Clint rolled his eyes, slowly moving closer to her. She already hurt him twice within five minutes; he wasn't looking for a third time. The pair stayed quiet for a moment, Natasha's body tucked comfortably against his side. "Hey Nat?" he asked after a few minutes. "What were you thinking about earlier?"

Natasha stayed silent, enjoying the warmth his body gave off. She wouldn't seek out his warmth, but she wouldn't resist when it was given. "The snow brings back a lot of memories," she said simply, thinking back to the day her parents died. "I'd prefer they stay away."

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Reviews please!


	7. Sickness: Viti Levu, Fiji

I wonder if any of my readers live in the countries I'm naming.

* * *

Natasha felt her head swirl as she and Clint made it back to the little hut they were using as their headquarters. She couldn't stand the oppressive heat of the tropical country, feeling as if she was walking through soup as she tried to move through the humid air; she was Russian, she wasn't built for this type of weather. Although most people wouldn't have been able to notice it, she could tell her movements during the fight were slower, sluggish by her standards, lightning fast by everyone else's. She sighed in relief as she sat on the edge of the little cot. Her head was pounding, her stomach was rolling with nausea and all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep. Of course she couldn't do that because Clint was right there, sitting on the cot next to hers, taking off his thick boots.

That was yet another thing that had Natasha feeling like complete and utter shit. Their uniforms were not meant for a tropical mission. They were perfect for temperate temperatures, suitable for cold climates, but leather was not meant for the heat. "How long till pickup?" she mumbled, cradling her head in her hands as she rested her elbows on her knees.

"Another twelve hours or so," Clint replied, glancing at his watch. He peeled away the vest of his uniform, feeling the sweat cling to his skin. He felt absolutely gross; for the first time in his life he wanted a cold shower and it wasn't for sexual reasons. "Gives us time to catch up on sleep or at least try to in this heat." He saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eyes, Natasha's feet padding quietly across the floor as she raced to the bathroom. "Nat?" he called in concern, jumping to his feet as he heard her throw up.

_'Shit,'_ Natasha thought angrily as her stomach turned. She was sure she could handle the nausea; she was a master assassin after all. But her body was just as strong willed as her mind, sending her sprinting to the bathroom. She heard Clint shout her name in concern, but couldn't be bothered with a reply, too busy focusing on her stomach emptying itself. She flinched as she felt Clint's hand brush against the back of her neck, gathering her hair away from her face.

"Just me, Nat," he murmured soothingly as he noticed her flinch, rubbing her back gently. _'What the hell happened?' _he wondered as she was sick_. 'Did she eat something bad or catch something?'_ He could feel the heat coming off her, the skin on the back of her neck blazing when he touched it. Clint sat beside Natasha patiently, waiting for her stomach to calm itself.

As Natasha's stomach finished dry-heaving, she could feel her face flush with embarrassment. That had to be _the _most embarrassing, vulnerable moment of her entire life and she had been in some crazy situation. Natasha pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the trembling in her thighs as she made her way over to the sink to rinse the taste of acid out of her mouth. She had no idea what was going on with her body, if she caught some kind of bug, but she was not going to make herself look any weaker in front of Clint.

"You okay, Nat?" Clint asked, getting to his feet. Natasha nodded in reply, bracing her hands on the bathroom counter as she took deep breaths. He frowned as he looked at her, crossing his arms over her chest. "Stay right there," he said, walking back into the room. He tumbled through his bag, pulling out two pairs of shorts and a dark colored t-shirt. Tossing a pair of shorts onto the bed, he grabbed the rest of the clothes and walked back into the bathroom. "Change into these and I'll be right back," he told Natasha, placing the clothes on the counter next to her.

"What are you planning, Barton?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Just trust me," he said, closing the bathroom door behind him. He quickly changed into his own shorts, knocking on the bathroom door before opening it.

Natasha had changed into the clothes Clint had left for her. She told herself it wasn't because he had asked her to; it was simply to get out of her tight uniform into something more comfortable. She watched as Clint walked over to the bathtub, turning on the shower. "Come on," he said, extending his hand toward her. "The shower will cool you down and make you feel better. I won't bite I promise." Clint sat himself in the tub, waiting to see if Natasha would come.

Natasha hesitated before taking a step forward. A cool shower sounded like heaven at the moment. As she stood over Clint, she saw him pull himself further against the wall, trying to make more room for her. The tub wasn't exactly built for two; it would be a tight squeeze. She sat across from him in the tub, his legs on either side of her hips as she rested her legs on his. "Holy shit," she mumbled softly, enjoying the feel of the cool water on her overheated skin._ 'Who knew he could have a good idea?'_ she thought, leaning her head back to rest against the wall as the cool water ran over her skin.

"Told ya so," Clint said, smirking in contentment. Natasha ignored him, her eyes closing slowly. Clint relaxed in the cool water, glad to feel somewhat clean and refreshed. After thirty minutes, he decided it was time to get out of the shower, only to discover Natasha fast asleep. He reached behind himself, turning off the water as he got out of the tub without waking her. Quickly drying himself with a towel, he grabbed a dry one and reached toward Natasha, stopping before he touched her. "Tasha?" he called, taking a step back.

Natasha's fist quickly flew up, barely missing Clint's face. "Clint?" she called, her eyes bleary with sleep and sickness.

"Yeah, it's me, Tasha. I'm gonna take you out of the tub, okay?" he said.

"I can do it myself," Natasha replied, tiredly, wondering if she even had the energy to stand. Her skin no longer felt as if she was on fire, but her body felt weak, something that scared her.

Clint ignored Natasha's half-mumbled protests, wrapping the towel around her as he lifted her out of the tub. She was barely coherent as he carried her to the bedroom, listening to her murmured words as her eyes slipped close again. He dried her skin as best as he could, knowing the heat would dry her clothing in no time, before placing her on the cot. He brushed her bright red curls from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. "Feel better, Tasha," he murmured before walking over to his bed.

* * *

Reviews please!


	8. Vegas baby!: Nevada, United States

"Come on, Nat," Clint whined, attempting to use his puppy eyes to persuade her.

"No way, Clint," Natasha replied calmly, taking off her diamond earrings. It still felt weird for her to call Clint by his first name, but after someone takes care of you while you're sick it'd be a little too formal to call them by their last name, even if the person was Natasha.

"When's the next time we're gonna get to do this? We might never be back here for a mission. It's Vegas baby!"

Natasha turned toward Clint, her green eyes cold. "What did you just call me?" she asked coolly, her tone suggesting he think carefully about his words if he still wanted to be able to string his bow by the end of the night.

"Sorry, it's a common phrase," Clint said quickly. "But you know you secretly want to do it, Nat. We might never be sent back on a mission to Vegas-"

"Thank god for that," she murmured.

"We're already dressed to the nines from the mission-"

"I can be changed in less than three minutes."

"And the night is still young!" he concluded enthusiastically. The assassin duo had been sent undercover to subtly remove a South American drug lord who was on vacation in Vegas. The mission went off without a hitch, leaving Clint and Natasha literally all dressed up with nothing to do. And it was only 11 PM. "You look gorgeous," he said, gesturing to her floor length emerald dress. "And I look like a million bucks. Let's take advantage of it, live a little bit. We can go get some dinner, gamble a little, hell we can even go dancing. We're not supposed to leave until tomorrow night; let's have some fun. Please Nat."

Natasha groaned, rubbing her forehead. She knew if she continued rejecting his ideas he would go off alone and get himself into some form of trouble or worse, spend the entire night annoying her. She quickly put her earrings back on, looking around for her bag. "Three hours, Clint. You get three hours and then I'm leaving you," she said, picking up her purse.

"Great, let's go," Clint said, opening the hotel room door. "I know exactly where we should go first."

* * *

"Why are we in a restaurant, Barton?" Natasha asked, looking around. It was a beautiful restaurant, tastefully decorated in gold and black. Her long evening gown and Clint's impeccable suit didn't seem too out of place.

"If I'm gonna drag you around Vegas for a few hours, I might as well get you something sweet to eat," Clint replied easily. "This way you won't kill me by the end of the night. Besides you've never had a chocolate soufflé before."

"Have you?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope," he answered with a grin. "It'll be the first time for both of us."

"Oh joy," she said dryly as the waiter placed the dessert in front of them. She had to admit it looked pretty freakin' amazing. Natasha didn't usually indulge in desserts so when she did she liked to be extravagant. "Ohh," she moaned quietly as she took the first bite.

"It's good isn't it?" Clint remarked, smiling smugly as he dove into his own soufflé.

"You've got good taste in desserts, I'll give you that one," Natasha replied, completely content with her dessert.

"And this is only the opening act of our evening," Clint said happily as he waved over the waiter. "Can we get some wine please?"

* * *

As the soufflés and wine finished, Clint and Natasha moved on to the casino, Clint's hands itching to play some blackjack.

"Why do you insist on going to the casino to_ lose_ your hard earned money?" Natasha asked as they approached the card table. While she had been in quite a few casinos before, she had never stopped and played any of the games; she always had more important things on her mind than that.

"I won't lose my money," Clint retorted, rolling his eyes. "And it's just a game, it's fun. Come on Nat, live a little," he said, patting the empty chair beside him. He could see the eyes of every guy within a five-foot radius were focused on Natasha and he was both smug and protective about that fact.

_'He tells the assassin to live a little,'_ she thought sarcastically as she slid into the seat. "You're gonna have to teach me to play. And we're gonna need a few drinks," she answered, placing her bag on her lap.

"Not a problem, what do you want?"

"Vodka, keep it coming."

"Why am I not surprised," Clint replied, rolling his eyes as he called a waiter over to give him his order and tell him to keep it coming. Placing his credit card on the table, he slid it toward the dealer, asking for ten thousand dollars in chips without blinking an eye. "Okay, blackjack is a simple enough game."

* * *

After an shots of vodka and losing more money than they intended to, Clint and Natasha stumbled away from the blackjack table shortly after four in the morning. Neither was completely drunk, but they were nowhere near being sober.

"Hey Nat, wait," Clint said, grabbing her arm as they passed the dance floor on the way to the hotel elevators. "Let's go dance."

Natasha looked at Clint in confusion, raising her eyebrow slightly. "Are you nuts?"

"No, come on. One dance, they're playing slow songs," Clint pleaded, tugging her to the dance floor.

Natasha let Clint pull her along too tired and inebriated to resist. She loosely wrapped her arms around his neck as Clint placed his hands on her waist. "Aren't you glad I dragged you out tonight?" Clint asked, smirking at her as they swayed slowly to the music.

"I won't be thanking you when my feet are killing me later," she replied, rolling her eyes. "But this was…nice. The vodka was decent too."

Clint laughed, his grey eyes shining with happiness and the effects of the alcohol. "I'll sneak a bottle of Russian vodka into SHIELD for you; we'll drink it on special occasions."

"I'll hold you to that," she replied, unconsciously moving closer to him.

* * *

When the two agents woke hours later in the hotel room, neither of them mentioned what had happened the night before, what they had said and done. After all, what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas.

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Gotta love Vegas. Reviews please


	9. Loss and Reassurance: Kragujevac, Serbia

Hey readers! Sorry it's taken me so long to update. I got busy with end of the semester papers and finals then this week one of my friends died. It's just not been a great time for me lately. But I'm back, I'm on christmas break and I'm here to update my story. Hope you enjoy.

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There was numbness and there was pain and neither of them knew which one was better to be feeling. It was supposed to be a routine mission, though what a routine mission was supposed to be at SHIELD no one really knew. They were supposed to go in with a squad of ten other agents, infiltrate the building and get the bad guys. You're in then you're out, that was it. But of course in true mission fashion, something had to go wrong. In this case, horribly, horribly wrong. No one expected the bad guy to go easily, they rarely do, but no one expected the building to be rigged for explosives. No one expected him to blow it sky high, taking everyone with it.

After the building exploded, the first thing Clint felt was absolute panic. He could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment. Natasha was in there; other agents were down there too, but Natasha was the only person he was focused on at the moment. Her voice coming through the comm. link as he quickly scaled down the side of the building sounded like a miracle in his ears, easing the fear that had gripped his heart. Only once he knew she was okay did he start to panic over the other SHIELD agents.

Natasha was outside fighting the reinforcements that had been sent when the building exploded, the force knocking her flat on her back. Her ears were ringing, the air knocked out of her lungs from the force of the explosion. She was frozen momentarily in fear as she struggled to remember where Clint was. Had he gone into the building to help the other agents or was he still on the rooftop? As she regained her hearing, she could hear him calling into her earpiece, giving her back the ability to breathe.

Every agent had been inside and every agent had been lost. There was no chance of saving them, no way of preventing it. It was simply one of those things that happened, a horrible case of bad luck, something that couldn't have been prevent even if they tried.

* * *

Natasha and Clint sat in the back of the plane, in the area set up for agents to rest. SHIELD finally decided to splurge on a plane with beds for extra long flights, but the ten empty beds seemed to mock them, pointing out that they lost, the people who would never come back.

"Fuck!" Clint shouted, punching the metal wall of the plane. He couldn't believe they lost ten people, ten good, strong agents. He and Natasha managed to walk away from the mission with just scrapes and bruises and yet there were ten agents who were _dead._ How the hell was that even fair? He continued pacing up and down the rows of bed, as he had been doing since the moment they set foot on the plane. His mind ran through scenarios, every possible plan of attack, trying to figure out some way they could have prevented it. He wanted someway to get this aching pain out of himself, to ease the clenching of his heart.

Natasha silently watched Clint pace up and down the rows, her eyes tracking his movements, but still not processing what had happened. They lost _everyone._ She didn't think it was possible. They all knew being a SHIELD agent was dangerous; odds were you would die on a mission. But to have everyone die on one mission was mind-boggling. She wasn't close to any of the agents, she wasn't close to anyone but Clint and Phil, but she still recognized their faces, knew what their voices and laughter sounded like, knew some of them had families, had kids. And now they were never coming home. She couldn't help feeling as if this added a bit more red to her ledger. It wasn't her fault, but she should have been able to protect them, prevent this. And now they were gone. Her mind felt numb, unable to process that fact.

"Shit, this shouldn't have happened Nat," Clint shouted, his voice filled with anguish, as he leaned against the wall, sliding down until he sat on the floor.

Clint's pain seemed to snap Natasha out of her stupor as she rose to her feet and walked over to where he sat. "No, this shouldn't have happened," she replied quietly, sitting next to him. "But there was nothing we could do about it. We only knew what SHIELD told us; we couldn't have planned for this."

"Then we should have fuckin' know!" Clint ran his hands through his hair in anger, trying to get control of his emotions. "Sorry, I shouldn't be shouting at you; it's not your fault."

Natasha shrugged her shoulders, "I've heard worse. This isn't anyone's fault except the asshole who blew up the building. We couldn't have saved any of them, Clint; there's no point beating yourself up over it."

Clint placed his head in his hands, trying to control the growing pain in his heart. "Are you alright?" he muttered, taking a deep breath. "And I'm not talking physically."

Natasha was once again surprised by his concern for her, leaving her momentarily speechless. "I'll be fine; just gonna be a long night." _'Or series of nights,' _she mentally corrected.

"I hear you," Clint sighed. "Don't break my arm," he warned her before wrapping an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer against his side. After that disaster, he just wanted to hold onto her, to know that she was okay, she was still with him.

Natasha stiffened momentarily before she relaxed against him, her head just barely resting on his shoulder. She wouldn't tell him, but it felt good to feel his body against hers. She was slightly disturbed by how worried she was about him earlier; it wasn't something she was used to. Having him beside her chased away the fears she knew would plague her late at night.

"I was worried about you, Nat," Clint whispered after a few minutes of silence.

"I was worried about you too, Clint," Natasha replied just as softly.

With the admissions floating in the air between them, the two assassins remained silent for the rest of the flight, neither of them moving from this position on the floor, neither of them sleeping, just happy to not be alone.

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Reviews please!


	10. Traditions: Undisclosed SHIELD location

Since my readers have been so great this year [seriously you guys are freakin' awesome], I've decided to write a Christmas chapter. You're all on my nice list. Happy holidays

* * *

Clint tossed his towel in the laundry basket as he came out of the bathroom wearing a t-shirt and SHIELD issued sweatpants. Despite the foot of snow outside, his bedroom was pretty warm, just the way he liked it. He opened the mini-fridge in his room, a Christmas gift from Phil one year, taking out the chilled bottles of vodka and whiskey. Natasha would be over soon to join him in their Christmas tradition. Well it wasn't quite a tradition since this was only their second year doing it, but they were well on their way to making it a tradition, _their _tradition. As he settled into the couch, turning on his television, he heard a quiet knock at the door. "Come in, Nat," Clint called, flipping through the channels._ 'Looks like we're gonna watch Christmas movies tonight.' _

Natasha entered the room, carrying a pizza and wearing a nearly identical outfit with the addition of a hoodie. She shut the door behind her, smirking slightly as she noticed a little Christmas tree set up in the corner. It was a pathetic little thing, barely more than a foot tall, but Clint took pride in decorating it. Who was she to rain on his parade? Especially when he was providing her with wonderful Russian vodka. It was covered in lights and multicolored ornaments; it even had a little star on the top. It was kinda cute.

"Hey," she said, walking over to the couch. She wondered, not for the first time, how she got sucked into this tradition. She was always surprised at Clint's ability to pull her into things she didn't want to do. Last Christmas he nearly dragged her from the gym, claiming even assassins took off for Christmas. They ended up in his room, eating junk food and drinking as they watched Christmas movies on television, claiming it was crucial to her cultural education. As the night dragged on and the liquor ran out, they ended up talking about things they wouldn't normally have, their lips loosened by the alcohol until they eventually fell asleep on the couch together. She wasn't sure if she looked forward to or dreaded their time together on Christmas.

"Yes, you got the pizza," he said, smiling up at her. "Chicken on it?"

"Only on half; I got vegetables on the other half," she replied, making herself comfortable on the couch, setting the pizza on the table. "What are we watching?"

"How the Grinch stole Christmas," Clint replied easily, opening the box and grabbing a slice. "Oh man this smells great."

"Isn't that a kid movie?" she questioned, taking out her own slice.

"Depends on who you ask. I think it's a Christmas classic so you have to watch it at least once." Clint grabbed the glasses on the table, pouring them drinks. Handing her a glass, he smiled at her, raising his cup. "Merry Christmas Nat."

"Merry Christmas Clint," she replied, a faint smile on her lips as she clinked her glass against his.

* * *

"You know I never thought I'd be here," Clint slurred, his whiskey bottle nearly empty.

"Drunk on your couch in a SHIELD facility with another assassin?" Natasha asked, downing another shot of vodka. It was a little after four in the morning; the pair spent the entire night up watching Christmas movies and drinking. They were both on their way to being properly shitfaced, all glassy eyes and slurred words.

"No," Clint replied, shaking his head. "Well yes, but that wasn't what I was thinking about."

"Then what were you talking about Agent Barton?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow. "What goes on in that brain of yours?"

"I never thought I'd be alive this long."

Natasha wrinkled her brow in confusion, reaching to pour another drink. There was just enough vodka left for two, maybe three more shots. "Why wouldn't you be alive?"

Clint shrugged his shoulders, leaning back in the couch. "Always figured my father would end up killing me."

"What?" Natasha asked, his answer surprising her so much her glass almost slipped from her fingers. Almost.

"All those scars I have on my back, those burns you saw," he said, reminding her of their mission to Finland. "He gave them to me when I was a kid. He was…an abusive asshole. To everyone, me, Mom, my brother. Always figured he'd end up killing me one day. Mom did die, so did my brother. I never thought I would live to see my eighteenth birthday. Coulda never seen the path my life would have taken." Clint's face clouded over with sadness, reaching for his glass to take a long gulp of the whiskey. It burned going down his throat, but it chased the sadness away.

"My parents were killed the day I was taken to the Red Room," Natasha said quietly, her voice quaking with suppressed emotion. Clint turned his head toward her; she never spoke about her past. "I came home one day and my house was on fire. My parents were inside murdered and I got dragged off to the Red Room kicking and screaming. I died back there in that fire with them." She paused, downing another shot as she burned away the memories. "They took away everything and ruined me. And I ruined myself." Natasha pushed up the sleeve of her shirt, her hoodie long forgotten on the ground, to reveal a series of perfectly straight scars on the inside of her arm. "I lost everything."

Clint's eyes widened as they focused on the scars on her arm, his heart aching for her. Placing his glass on the table, he reached for her arm, tugging it toward him. He gently brushed his lips against the scars, kissing them. "We will find everything again, Nat. Together," he promised, looking up at her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, shifting their bodies until they laid on the couch, Natasha laying on top of him. She didn't resist his movement, too tired and drunk to do anything but relax into his comforting hold, allowing the quiet murmur of the television to lull them to sleep.

* * *

When Coulson entered Clint's room the next morning, wondering where the hell his two best agents were, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of them, Clint's arms wrapped protectively around Natasha, her face tucked against his neck. Draping a blanket over the pair, he grabbed the empty liquor bottles off the table, wondering where Clint got the vodka from as he walked out.

* * *

And that's Christmas for our favorite assassins. Reviews please


	11. Trust: Somewhere in South Africa

I GOT A B IN MY PHILOSOPHY CLASS! I'm quite excited about this since it was my worst class this semester so I felt to share. So if you read my story "Waiting Game" in the first chapter Clint and Natasha talk about a mission in South Africa. This is that mission. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

"How are you liking South Africa, Widow?" Clint asked breathlessly as he shot another mercenary._ 'Shit where are all these people coming from?'_ he wondered, frustrated. _'And where's the SHEILD backup?'_

"Just peachy, Hawkeye," she replied just as breathless as she ran through the winding halls of the building. "A bit warm for my catsuit though; leather doesn't breathe well."

"Don't I know it," he chuckled, punching his opponent in the stomach. "Next time we'll make you a cotton catsuit. Won't be as durable, but you won't die from heat stroke or something." SHIELD sent their two best agents to South Africa on a mission that required subtlety and stealth. Naturally within ten minutes of arriving at the huge building, every mercenary within a twelve-mile radius knew they were there and were gunning for their heads.

Things would have been much easier for the agents if it were an assassination. Those could be handled quickly, a simple mission. But information retrieval was much more difficult. Even if they were caught, if alarms were set off, they still had to continue on to get the information. There was no one they could simply shoot and leave behind. The mission didn't end until the information was retrieved even if that meant fighting of dozens of people you hadn't anticipated appearing.

"Just out of curiosity, what's the ETA on our backup?" she asked as she fought off another security guard, banging her wrist in the process. She was gonna be feeling that one in the morning.

"If I knew I'd let you know," Clint replied, grunting as he was caught off guard by a left hook. The mission was going downhill quickly; they only had a few more minutes before they were completely screwed and SHIELD would be searching for their bodies. Clint had no intention of heading back to SHIELD in a body bag and he sure as hell wouldn't let anything happen to Natasha. "Any chance you could wrap this up a little faster, Widow?"

"Working on it," she panted, bursting into the central control room. 'Thank god,' she thought, locking the door before heading over to the computer system. Her mind quickly ran over the directions Phil gave her before the mission, her fingers flying across the keyboard. As her flashdrive downloaded the necessary files, she shoved a desk in front of the door, attempting to baracade it as she heard the pounding outside. "I'm in the room."

"That's freakin awesome," he said, his muscles getting sore. "How much longer?"

"Two, three minutes tops," she replied, her gun aimed at the door as she kept her eye on the computer. If anything happened to the computer and her download was stopped, the entire mission would have been a waste.

"Escape route?"

"I'm probably going to have to improvise on that one," she answered, looking around the room. Judging by the banging at the door, going back the way she came was definitely not an option, not if she wanted to get out alive. There were airvents running through the ceiling but she had no idea how large they were, if they were rigged with traps or where they led too. Plus air vents were always Clint's preferred escape route, not hers. That just left the window. Which would have been perfect if she wasn't on the second floor. But her options were pretty slim and beggars couldn't be choosers. She would have given her best gun to have a grappling hook at the moment.

"What do you mean improvise?" Clint asked cautiously, getting annoyed with the constant fighting. Improvising usually ended with one or both of them in the SHIELD infirmary, a week off of missions and Phil lecturing them about being more careful.

"You remember those stupid trust games they made us play at the SHIELD team building session?" she asked as her flash drive neared the end of its download.

"The one where you refused to fall because you didn't trust anyone to catch you?" he asked, laughing at the memory. Phil and Fury didn't appreciate her lack of trust, but she couldn't really care about that.

"Yeah that one. Wanna play?"

Clint felt his heart drop into his feet at her words. He had a feeling she wasn't talking about playing it the traditional way. "Where?"

"Northwest corner of the building, eyes on the second floor window, second one from your left," she replied, pulling the flash drive out of the computer before firing a few rounds at it. She walked over to the window, attempting to open it before cursing; it was bolted shut.

"Gimme thirty seconds," he answered, sprinting to the other side of the building. As he reached the side of the building he looked up at the window she directed him to. "Ready when you are."

Natasha nodded even though he couldn't see her, taking a few steps back from the window in the narrow room. The glass wasn't thick but she'd need the running start to get through the window. "Don't drop me," she said, running toward the window.

"Not in a million years." His eyes widened as she came through the window, her arms in front of her face to protect herself from the flying glass. Clint backed up a few steps as Natasha flew through the air, rolling as he caught her. He cursed loudly as he was knocked to the ground by her momentum, feeling his shoulder pop out of its socket. "Nice of you to drop in, Romanoff," he said, struggling to catch his breath. He may have broken a rib too.

"Yeah," she replied, hissing as she moved her arm. She definitely broke her wrist. She carefully pulled the flash drive from her pocket, smirking when she saw it was undamaged. "Even brought you a gift."

"Aw, you shouldn't have," he said, rolling his eyes as he got up. He offered her his hand, pulling her close as he helped her to her feet. "So I guess that means you trust me, huh?"

"Consider yourself one of the lucky one," she answered, smirking slightly.

"And on our three year anniversary of meeting," he chuckled, bumping his uninjured shoulder against hers. "Took ya long enough."

"Can it, Barton; it's time to go home," she said, gesturing to the SHIELD helicopter getting closer.

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Reviews please!


	12. Blood loss talking?: Le Havre, France

So I've had a reader ask me what happened to the Blackhawk baby story I promised to write. I'm still gonna do it readers, don't worry. The thing is I don't like writing multiple stories at once; I always end up neglecting one and I don't want to leave any story half written. So I'm gonna finish this story; there are about 3 or 4 chapters left, then I'm gonna start that one. I'm out of school till the end of January so it's not like I don't have time.

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There were very few things that scared Natasha Romanoff. Even the thought of her own death didn't really scare her. She had brought death too many times, angered too many people for her to be afraid of it. If she died tomorrow would she be happy about it? No, but she wouldn't fear it. She would fight tooth and nail to stay alive, but she knows there would be a certain point, a point of no return, where she would simply give up and let it go. She wasn't afraid of what was on the other side of death either. She figured there was nothing there, that death was simply the end, a big black abyss with nothing in it. And if she was wrong, then she definitely wasn't going to heaven or whatever version of it may exist. Her ledger was soaked red; there was not enough redemption in her life to save her. And she was mostly okay with it; she was still trying to clean her ledger but she knew it wasn't anywhere near done.

While she was reconciled with her own death, there were two people in her life whose deaths she absolutely could not handle, whose deaths would break her. One was Agent Coulson. Although he wasn't thrilled when Clint disobeyed orders and brought her back to SHIELD, the agent still treated her with kindness and courtesy, unlike many of the other agents. He became a father figure to her, whatever that equated to in an assassin's life. He was the grounding force in her life, a set of rules and regulations for her to live by, someone who oddly enough understood her although he only knew her for three and a half years.

The other person was Clint. He drove her absolutely crazy, pestered her on a regular basis and some days she just wanted to shoot him in his foot. But she cared about him. She trusted him when she didn't know what trust really was and she never regretted her choice for a second. He was the best partner she could ever ask for in the field and the best friend she could ask for out of it. So when she saw him lying on the floor, bleeding from bullet wounds, her blood froze in her veins.

One moment he was on his feet, the next he was on the ground. "Barton!" she shouted, shooting the gunman as she rushed to his side. She cursed softly as she knelt next to him, her hands applying pressure to the wounds. "Barton, talk to me," she said roughly.

"Ow," he said, opening his eyes slowly. "That hurts, Nat."

"Well it's either apply pressure and hurt you or let you bleed out from your," her eyes quickly scanned his body, counting the wounds, "your three bullet wounds. Three? Seriously Barton? Where the hell is your Kevlar vest?"

"Rookie left his at SHIELD," he said, coughing. Crap, his body was in trouble, he could feel it. It wasn't his first time being shot, he'd seen his fair share of bullet wounds, but it was the first time he was bleeding that much. He could tell that he was losing too much blood too quickly. His clock was ticking and he only had a few minutes. "He'd probably be dead without it."

"And now you might be dead without it," she retorted harshly. She clicked on her comm. link, leaving a smudge of blood on the earpiece. "This is Widow, I need a med evac for Hawkeye ASAP, do you read me?"

"Read you loud and clear, Widow," a voice replied on the other end of the line. "ETA four minutes."

Natasha let out a string of curses in Russian, putting her hand back to Clint's wound. Four minutes might be too long. "Help's on its way," she said, lifting his hand to cover one of his wounds. "Keep your hand here and don't move."

"Tell them…not to take so long to show up," Clint said hoarsely, focusing on Natasha's face as the room began to blur a bit. "I think I…need a massage after that fall."

"I'll tell Coulson to give you one," she replied, laughing dryly.

Clint snorted. "Think I'll pass then. Hey Nat?"

"Yeah, Barton?"

"Are you still gonna..,call me that?" he asked, frowning slightly. "Name's Clint."

"The blood loss must be getting to you; I never call you by your first name on a mission. Not ever."

"Took forever for you t-to call me by my name," he mumbled, his eyes closing. Shit he just wanted to sleep, but if he went to sleep odds were he wasn't gonna wake up again.

"Barton, stay with me," Natasha said worriedly, tapping the side of his face with her hand. "You keep your eyes open and you keep your hand in place, got it? Or I'll kick your ass when we get back to base."

"You cheated last…match," he replied weakly. "Went for my injured side."

"Just trying to toughen you up a bit, partner," Natasha said, smirking as she wondered where the med evac was. Clint's time was slipping through her fingers.

"More than partner. You know you love me," he answered, rolling his eyes although they lost the desired effect with his groan of pain. "I'm your best friend." Natasha reminded silent, nodding her head slightly as she looked down at his wound. Too much blood. "Hey Nat?"

"How are you bleeding so much yet you have so much strength to talk?" she asked, trying to distract herself.

"Marry me?"

Natasha felt herself get mental whiplash as she looked down at Clint. "What?" she asked incredulously.

"Marry me; I don't want to die a single guy," he said, a smile tugging at the end of his lips. "How pitiful…would that be. My tombstone would say…Clint Barton. Died for want of Kevlar vest…not the usual family spiel." Natasha was still trying to figure out if the blood loss was making Clint a little more loose lipped than usual or if he was just trying to mess with her as the medics ran in. "Ah…missed your chance," he muttered as the medics gathered around him. "Least I'm still your best friend."

"Is that a blessing or a curse?" she asked sarcastically.

"Bit of both," he said, reaching over to squeeze her hand as he began to lose consciousness. "Bit of both."

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Reviews please.


	13. Repercussions be damned: Osasco, Brazil

This scene gave me so many issues to write, I wrote a completely different version then scrapped it.

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"You know we always end up with these missions around our anniversary," Clint shouted to be heard over the din of the battle.

"What do you mean?" Natasha asked, performing a spectacular roundhouse kick to the face of her opponent.

"I mean our four year anniversary is in a few days and here we are in the middle of a massive shoot out _again_," he replied, reaching for another arrow. He cursed quietly as he fingered his remaining arrows. He was gonna be out of them soon, forced to use his guns. He was just as proficient with his gun as he was with his bow, but he preferred his bow to any other weapon he could possibly have. It was a part of him whereas his gun was simply a weapon. Still given the magnitude of the battle, he wasn't gonna complain as long as he had a weapon. "I feel like this always happens to us. Last year you jumped out a window."

"I can't believe you actually keep track of the date," Natasha commented, rolling her eyes. Clint was such a sentimental sap over things like that. She couldn't believe when he remembered the one-year anniversary of their meeting, bringing her a chocolate cupcake with a candle while she was working out in the gym.

But that was the type of person Clint was. He cared. He remembered things. And Natasha couldn't help the fact that it was growing on her. She liked that he brought her cupcakes every year on their anniversary. She liked the little Christmas tree he set up every year in his room. She liked that he always had a bottle of vodka waiting for her in his mini-fridge. She liked that she could fall asleep on the plane next to him and not have to worry about him trying to kill her. She liked that he had nicknames for her, that he didn't see her as just an assassin who switched sides. He actually saw her as a human being who had a horrible past, yet didn't think her future was cursed. He didn't just see her as the Black Widow; he saw her as Natasha Romanoff.

"Come on, I can't forget the day I met my best friend," he answered teasingly.

"Even if you were sent to kill me?"

"The only thing that matters about that is the fact that I_ didn't_ kill you. If I did I'd be rather lonely right now."

"If you did, you'd probably be dead by now," she retorted.

"That's debatable."

"Yeah and this is just a little battle," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes even though he was too far away to see it; he could hear it in her tone.

"At least SHIELD didn't lie to us again and say it was gonna be an easy mission. Baby steps," Clint replied. "Though that may have more to do with you threatening that one SHIELD agent who gave us the intel when I got shot that one time."

"All I'm saying is if you're gonna send us into a mission, at the very least be honest with us so we know how to prepare ourselves," she answered. "And make sure rookie agents have their vests with them for Christ's sake."

"Told ya you cared, Romanoff," he answered, smirking.

"I just don't want to have to deal with training another partner," she retorted. "I can barely handle you and we've been partners for four years. I'd end up killing the newbies."

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As the last of the enemy was rounded up and defeated, Clint jumped off of his perch, quickly scaling down the side of the building, putting his years of working in the circus to good use. He never thought he'd be able to do anything with his acrobat skills outside of the circus, but life was full of surprises. "Romanoff, where are you?" he asked, walking along the charred streets. The entire block looked like a bomb went off; SHIELD was gonna have a fun time cleaning up the mess and coming up with some bullshit reason for the destruction. Maybe it would get passed off as a movie set or something. "Romanoff, do you read me?" he asked again, tapping the side of his comm. link. 'Did I break mine again?' he wondered. The only thing he could hear was static. He moved a little faster, going into the building where Natasha was fighting.

"Romanoff!" he called into the hopefully empty building. The only reply he got was the sound of muffled grunts and hits. "Widow!" he shouted, quickly climbing the littered stairs, his feet skirting around bits of broken wood and glass. As he reached the second floor, he saw Natasha fighting hand to hand with three other opponents, barely able to hold them off. "Need some help?" he asked, jumping into the fight.

"I could handle it by myself," she replied, panting as she punched one of the enemies. "Was doing it just fine without you."

Clint rolled his eyes as he faced off with another person, relishing the chance to fight hand to hand. He loved his bow and arrows, but sometimes it felt good to just fight with your hands, to feel the blood pumping in your veins, your muscles stretching and flexing. "Watch your step," he warned as he noticed her fight getting closer to the stairs.

"I see it," she answered, knocking her opponent unconscious. "Told you I had it."

Clint smirked as he turned toward her, his eyes widening as he saw the top step giving way. "Nat!" he shouted, rushing forward and wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her body against his.

"Nice catch, Barton," Natasha said breathlessly, her hands instinctively going to his shoulders as he pulled her close. She couldn't help noticing how close their faces were together, so close she could see the little flecks of brown in his stormy grey eyes.

"I've always got you," he whispered, his breath coming a little faster. He knew he should have released her by now, but he didn't want to. He wanted to stay there with her body pressed against his, smelling the faint vanilla scent that always lingered on her skin, looking at the color that filled her cheeks from exertion. He moved his head closer to hers, giving her the chance to pull away if she wanted to. As she stayed position he moved closer, his lips caressing the lips he desired for nearly four years. Even though he knew there were gonna be some serious repercussions for this kiss, he couldn't find himself regretting it.

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Reviews please! How was it?


	14. Fire and Ice: Vejle, Denmark

Warning for all of my readers: This chapter gets a bit steamy toward the end; it's not a full lemon but it's...limey. You've been warned, skip over it if you'd like.

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"Are you out of your goddamn mind, Romanoff?" Clint shouted, slamming the door to their hideout behind them.

"I don't know what you're all worked up about," Natasha replied, her annoyance growing at his tone. She leaned back against the wall, watching him with cool eyes. She didn't take kindly to being yelled at, not by anyone.

Things had been different between them since their kiss seven months earlier. They were still partners on and off the field, still went on missions together, still trained in the gym together, still ate lunch in the cafeteria together. But now there was that undercurrent of things unspoken between them.

Neither of them had said anything after the kiss, everything simply dropped where it was. Neither of them knew how to deal with what was between them. Natasha certainly didn't know how. She was taught from a young age that love was for children, that emotion would get you killed. She didn't know how to deal with her partner, her best friend kissing her, didn't know how to deal with all the repercussions that came along with it. While it felt good at the moment, they never thought about the consequences that would follow them.

"How can you not understand why I'm all worked up!" he said, exasperated. He racked his hand through his hair as he started disarming himself, placing his guns on the table in the corner of the room. "You were kidnapped-"

"I was fine," she answered, taking out her own weapons and placing them on the dresser.

"You didn't know where they were taking you-"

"Yes, because kidnappers always tell their victims where they're taking them."

"They could have killed you-"

Natasha snorted quietly. "Yes, because just anyone would manage to kill me. Deadly assassin isn't a name I have just because it sounds nice; I can back it up."

"SHIELD didn't know where you were," he said, pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Like I care? I would have checked in with Coulson the moment I got rid of the people annoying me." 'Seriously, what is he going on and on about?' Natasha wondered, taking up her spot against the wall again.

"I didn't know where you were," he said loudly, placing his arms on either side of her effectively trapping her between them. His eyes locked onto her bright green ones, filled with the swirling emotions he felt. He was angry with her for being so nonchalant about her safety, he was angry with himself for not seeing the attackers coming, he was relieved she was back safe, and he was damn terrified of all of the emotions she managed to pull out of him. When had he gone from being the stoic Hawkeye to this mess of emotions? His arms were trembling slightly as his body tried to deal with the adrenaline filling his veins and the emotions that dominated his mind. "I didn't know where you were, Tasha," he repeated quietly, his eyes begging her to understand all the things he couldn't say, that he wouldn't say.

"Clint," she said softly, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her hands slowly slid up his shoulders, resting at the back of his neck. Now was the moment of truth. She knew Clint would leave her to make the choice, to choose whether she wanted to go forward with this or stay the way they were. Every instinct drilled into her screamed for her to push him away, to move his arms and change out of her uniform into something more comfortable until their transportation showed up for her. It should have been simple, an easy thing to do. Clint would put up no resistance. But she didn't want to let him go. She was so cold inside and Clint was like a fire in her life; he could either warm her or send her up in flames. No matter what happened there were gonna be consequences. "Clint," she whispered, pulling him close, her lips smashing against his hungrily.

Clint's arms immediately wrapped around her body, pulling her flush against his as he pressed her back against the wall. "Tasha," he whispered against her lips, his hands threading through her vibrant red hair.

Natasha's hands were squeezed between them as she unzipped his vest and shoved it off his shoulders, smirking at the thud it made on the floor. She ran her hands across his toned muscles, her fingertips tracing the scars she knew so well, some from past missions, others from the time before she knew him. They had never been intimate before, but they still knew every inch of each other's body. She knew for certain Clint was the one person she could trust with this.

Clint laced his fingers, lifting Natasha as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her over to the bed, their lips never separating for more than a handful of seconds. He carefully laid her on the bed, his lips going to the side of her neck where he kissed the sensitive skin. Her quiet pleas had his hand reaching for the zipper at the front of her uniform, easing it down a bit before pausing. "Are you sure you wanna do this, Tasha?" he asked breathlessly, his free hand clenching the bed sheets as he looked at her flushed face. "If we do this…there's no going back to before, not between us. Things won't be like they are now."

_'God does he think I don't realize this?'_ Natasha wondered as he spoke. This was going to change everything between them...but she was willing to let them change. "Clint, just shut up," Natasha said, rolling her eyes as she pulled his lips back to hers. That was all the answer Clint needed as he slid the zipper down completely, revealing the body he already knew so well, that he would know better. She was his best friend after all, who could he love more than her?

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Reviews please! Only one chapter left!


	15. Seriously, now?: Budapest, Hungary

Ladies and gentleman, I would like to present you with the very last chapter of What happens in... I hope you've all enjoyed this story! I've had a blast writing it even though I took longer than I liked between chapters. I'll be starting the Blackhawk pregnancy story tomorrow or the day after, whenever my inspiration strikes. I still have to come up with a witty title. Anyhow, enjoy this chapter and leave me a review to know what you thought.

xoxo, Ninjanervana

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"Don't you just love Budapest, Nat?" Clint whispered in her ear as they danced gracefully around the floor. _'I might start to like these undercover missions,' _he thought as he held Natasha a little closer. He was still unused to being so dressed up, wearing a tuxedo instead of his regular uniform, and he felt naked without his bow strapped to his back, but he had to admit Natasha looked absolutely gorgeous in her floor length white gown.

"Better than last time," she chuckled, her eyes locked on their target. "The last time we were here we were in a massive shootout, we didn't like each other and you nearly killed me with your arrows."

"I did not nearly kill you," he scoffed, twirling her around.

"You fired two arrows that were mere inches from my head."

"I never miss, Nat. You should know that by now."

"Well, I didn't know it back then. Hell I didn't even like you back then," she replied. "For all I know it could have just been an elaborate way for SHIELD to kill me off."

"And yet here you are six years later, still alive and well," he said, smirking.

"With the world's most annoying partner known to man," she added, giving him an overly sweet smile. "Target's on the move."

"Meet you around back?" Clint asked as he led them off of the dance floor. "Just don't start a shootout again."

"I don't start them, only finish them," she answered, following after their target.

Clint quickly made it to the back of the building, cursing as he saw a number of bodyguards blocking the door._ 'Well shit,' _he thought, looking at his watch. He had 90 seconds before Natasha walked out of that door and into the waiting arms of six other men who were not him. All she had to do was get in, tranquilize the target and get out; SHIELD would handle the rest._ 'Guess I'm the cause of the shootout this time.'_ "Hey fellas, do any of you have a lighter?" he asked, approaching them calmly.

"No," one of the guards replied. "No one's allowed back here; go back to the front."

"Aw come on, be a pal," Clint said, smirking.

"I said no one's-" The guard's words were cut off as Clint smashed his fist into the man's windpipe, turning his words into a gasp of pain. The other guards moved quickly to grab onto Clint, leading to a hand to hand free for all fight.

"Barton!" Natasha shouted irritably as the back door swung open. The momentary distraction allowed Clint to knock out another of the guards. Natasha quickly jumped into the fray, her back pressed against Clint's as they fought their opponents.

"Hey Tasha," Clint said as he dodged another punch.

"What Hawkeye?" she replied, still a little annoyed for getting them into a fight. If she got a drop of blood on her dress, he was gonna buy her a new one.

"Marry me?"

"What?" Natasha asked in surprise, barely able to catch the fist coming toward her face in time.

"Marry me. I want you to marry me. I have a ring and everything, but my hands are kinda full right now," he said, grabbing the arms of one of the guards and kicking him in the stomach to prove his point.

"Barton, I don't think now is the right time-"

"It's the perfect time for us; when aren't we fighting off someone?" he questioned. As the last guard collapsed to the ground, he turned toward her, taking her hands in his. "Marry me. Tonight, let's go get married. I've got a tux, you've got a white dress. I love you and you love me-"

"Love is for children," she said reflexively.

"Then come be a child with me, Natasha Romanoff." He pulled a simple silver ring out of his pocket, getting down onto his knee. "Marry me, Tasha."

Natasha looked down at the face of the man she loved, although she was hesitant to admit it. Was she really going to marry him, run off to a chapel and become Mrs. Barton? She never thought she would be put in this position, that she would have someone that she would actually consider marrying. What reason did she have to refuse him? She loved him even if she never really said it, there was no one else she wanted to be with, no one else she would love. Sure SHIELD wouldn't be happy about it, but she could care less about what they wanted; she and Clint could always leave if they wanted.

"Yes," she said quietly.

Clint's eyes widened at her word, his heart skipping a beat. "Yes? You said yes?"

"I said yes, Barton, don't make me regret it," she said, smirking.

Clint got to his feet, taking Natasha's face in his hands and kissing her. "You won't regret it, I promise," he said, taking his hands and leading her out of the alleyway. "Come on, I know where we can go."

"You've got this all planned out?" she asked, laughing.

"Of course, I don't want you changing your mind on me," he teased, winking at her. "I've got everything planned out."

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"I can't believe you bribed a priest to perform a marriage in the middle of the night," Natasha whispered to Clint in the empty church.

"I can't believe they had a veil on hand for you," he chuckled. He kissed her cheek quickly before heading for the door that led into the main part of the church. "I'll see you in a minute; I'll be the one in the awesome tux," he said, adjusting his jacket before walking out.

Natasha rolled her eyes before checking her reflection in the mirror. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. As the door creaked open behind her, she drew her gun, spinning around.

"Need someone to walk you down the aisle?" asked Phil, smiling at her from the doorway. "Did you and Barton really think you two could get married without me finding out?"

"We hoped to at least be done with the ceremony before you busted us," she admitted.

He turned around as the wedding march started playing, offering her his arm. "Come on, that's our cue."

Natasha put on her veil, adjusting it before accepting Phil's arm and allowing him to lead her from the room. As they made their way down the aisle, she couldn't tell if Clint's widened eyes were because of the sight of her in the veil or her being walked down the aisle by Phil. Phil placed her hand in Clint's before taking his seat in the front pew.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and woman in holy matrimony," the priest said in broken English. "If there is anyone who has reason for why these two should not be joined, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Natasha and Clint both glanced at Phil, laughing as he rolled his eyes and waved them off. "May I have the rings?" the priest asked, holding out his hand. Clint pulled the two silver bands from his pocket, handing his ring over while holding onto Natasha's.

"Repeat after me, with this ring, I thee wed."

"With this ring, I thee wed," Clint said, a broad smile stretching across his face as he slid the ring onto her finger.

The priest handed Natasha the other ring, instructing her to repeat the same thing. "With this ring, I thee wed," she said, her green eyes sparkling with happiness.

"What God has joined, no man shall separate. I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride." Clint's immense smile grew as he lifted her veil, pulling her body against his and dipping her as he kissed her.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips.

"I love you too," she replied, too focused on Clint to notice Phil with his phone in hand. "I love you too."

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And that brings our story to an end! I hope you all enjoyed seeing Clint and Natasha's relationship through my eyes. Leave a review and I'll see you guys in my next story!


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